


Bite Me

by orphan_account



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Biting, Hate Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Other, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-05 20:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12196545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You've done it once, and it looks like you'll be doing it again until your deadlights quicken, and your cycle ends. But until then you'll just have to fuck each other into the concrete.





	Bite Me

**Author's Note:**

> wasn't satisfied with the first one but didn't want to delete it so i wrote another one. murder me.  
> direct sequel to Eat Me: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12192651

Consciousness comes to you in a rush of throbbing heat in your nethers, sending waves of hot and oozing slick down your thighs. You are alone, and you hiss as another pulse of arousal runs through your core. Your tail slams against the wall, the blade sparking on the concrete. You can smell yourself on the air, a heady and near intoxicating scent that hangs heavily in the air. Reaching out with your mind, you shift through the humans' gibberish until you locate him. 

 _Pennywise_ , you husk the name of his favoured form, _Pennywise_. You speak in the old tongue, the syllables sliding from your being in a soft, husky croon. He snaps back his reply impatiently, and instead of using your words you send him a response of _pleasure/heat/arousal_. 

And then suddenly he's there, pressing down onto your body with an almost bruising force. You rattle out a hissing laugh and effortlessly flip the position, leaving you perched on his hips like last time. Citrine eyes are blown wide in lust, merely a thin ring of burning yellow-orange swallowed by the black of his pupils. You grind your hips down sharply, impaling yourself on him. The ivory teeth that line his own nethers scrape deliciously against your core, sending pleasure shuddering down your spine. You hiss and arch your back, digging your claws into the soft flesh of his chest and raking them downward. Pennywise, whether out of petty revenge or not, claws marks into your hips and waist. The scratches leak purple-black fluid and every movement and heave of your hips sends pleasure-pain sparking through your system. 

The point where your bodies meet makes a wet squelching noise every thrust, and slick runs down your inner thighs to pool in between your bodies. Pennywise doesn't speak this time, and instead makes guttural and animalistic growls and rumbles in the place of words. You aren't much better, whining and snarling and growling along with him. Leaning forward you pry his mouth open with your tongue, shoving it down his throat. He does the same, and your tongues intertwine as drool drips down your chins. It is messy and wet, and your teeth get in the way, but it still sends something inside you purring. When you finally pull away, he wraps his tongue around your neck and lets out a pleased rumble. You know how you must taste and smell right now, and knowing so trips all sorts of perverse things that make you hiss. While Pennywise ravishes your neck you sink your teeth into his neck, your own tongue laving over the puncture marks and collecting his blood. It coats your organ thickly, tasting of copper and something else that sets your had spinning. 

Your deadlights throb with no clear pattern or rhythm, surging and writhing just below this flimsy flesh form. You can feel them pushing at the back of your throat, slowly inching forward as your hips snap down on Pennywise's. And finally you can't take the feeling anymore, and fold your jaws back, exposing rows and rows of jagged little teeth. Your deadlights creep up and up until they rest heavily on your tongue, glowing purple and sending strange twisting shadows dancing across the floor. 

Pennywise does the same and you mimic your actions from the day before, shoving your tongue down his throat as your deadlights mingle and pulse in growing pleasure. This time it must work, your deadlights must quicken. Your vision explodes in a burst of white and orange and purple, and you all but collapse on the form below you. You keep yourself upright on shaking arms and barely manage to roll yourself off him. Slick and his seed stains your thighs, glistening and slowly drying in the cool air. You swallow your deadlights once more, doing nothing more than curling up and settling down. 

And when you wake up there is no arousal, no slick running down your thighs, and no Pennywise either. There is nothing but the feel of four other bright pulses of life surrounding your deadlights. You hum and purr in contentment before slipping out of the sewer system, grabbing a quick snack out of an unsuspecting taxi driver before leaving the solar system and making the journey back to your nursery planet, where you'd raise your offspring.


End file.
